


Best Served Cold

by Nonottoday



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: As our lord and savior Bryan Fuller says, Dark Will Graham, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Free Will, I'm going ham on these tags, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Hannibal Lecter, Obsessive Matthew Brown, Obsessive Will Graham, Possessive Hannibal, Possessive Matthew, Protective Hannibal, They Flip, Will Graham Helps Himself, Yee Haw, altering pov, some non-consensual touching, will add more tags when i think of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonottoday/pseuds/Nonottoday
Summary: *Diverges from cannon at Mukozuke (season 2 ep 5)When the orderly Matthew Brown, his secret admirer, offers Will a favor for his friendship: fight or flight. Will chooses to fly.Without the constant influence of one Hannibal Lecter, Will plans to take his newfound sanity (and lack thereof), to transform himself into something truly monstrous. A match for the Chesapeake Ripper.Hannibal’s punishment will be perfected with the help of Will’s newfound friend, and presented when the time is right. Afterall, revenge is...





	1. Unclipped

AN: Hello everyone, this is my first ever fic! Please tell me what you think and if you want more! <3   
  


——————————————————————

 

**Chapter 1: Unclipped**

 

Dust floats around the room that houses Will and Gideon’s holding cells catching the beams of light that manage to slip into the asylum. The air between the two inmates seems to blur with the grim; trying to trick the other into revealing their hand.

 

“He is the devil Mr. Graham; he is smoke,” Gideon nearly sang, realizing Will intends to use his testimony as evidence of Hannibal’s guilt.

 

“You’ll never catch the Ripper, he won’t be caught.” Gideon shifts his eyes to meet Will’s, “If you want him… you will have to kill him”.

 

That notion tickles Will, that even when trying to rid himself of the monster that has made himself at home under his skin; he and Hannibal will be linked. A predator and his victim, one way or another. 

 

Will huffs. For whatever reason, Gideon is protecting Hannibal. “Fair enough”, his voice is still gravely from misuse, and tears himself from Gideon’s gaze and, subsequently, his stream of consciousness. Will doesn’t need Gideon’s perspective to confirm what he already knows is true, he needs proof. No need to stay in that slimy concoction of neuroses and illnesses a moment longer.

 

His chest aches. Another dead end. Another failure. Another fucking waste of time. And as he lets himself drift, he can still hear the hollow dripping of Beverly’s frozen corpse, as it melts in midday heat. Another life lost to a man he once thought of as a friend. His only friend.

 

As the roads for redemption are blocked one by one, Will’s desperation grows and anger sharpens. 

 

His next avenue of interest comes in the form of Freddie Lounds. Where morality, honesty, and a general sense of tact are lacking, Freddie makes for in sheer ambition. She is a means to an end, the ink in which flows his pen. By allowing the third-rate reporter to demean him for ad revenue in weight loss scams and counterfeit viagra, Freddie will open a line of communication between Will and his admirer. 

 

Will doesn’t lie when he tells the wide-eyed Lounds that he doesn’t think his admirer is crazy, nor does he lie when he says he could understand him. His empathy is his biggest asset and detriment. The possibility of camaraderie in a world that can not and does not want to understand is the lure Will instinctively knows this killer cannot resist. 

 

With the interview finished and the reporter is armed with enough quotes to spew across her website, the orderly waiting outside ushers Freddie away and preps Will for his move. During this, the man seems to abandon a bit of his professionalism, touches staying a little too long and hands moving a bit too gently. Will ignores these ministrations, until the orderly snatches his hands from Will when the other workers arrive, like a child caught reaching for a cookie jar. Will spares a quick glance at the man as he slips out of the room, promptly forgetting the interaction. 

 

As the guards bustle around him, retrieving the Will from one cage to put him in another, Will returns to his house in Wolftrap, and gazes at his safe haven from behind the first wall of trees. His lighthouse shines back at him to guide him during those cold purple nights when he feels adrift, a star millions of light years away from everyone. Will misses that loneliness, and the strength it once gave him. 

 

He’s become dependent to the point where he can barely swim without his so-called paddle. It’s disgusting, how much he craves that support, despite everything.

 

A lingering presence draws the empath from himself, where he notices a worker staying long past what the usual duties would dictate. (No one wants the company of a deranged serial killer, so said duties were quick and often substandard.)

 

“Would you like a book Mr. Graham?” The slight lisp identifies his visitor as the same orderly outside the conference room. His consideration is strange, as is the sincerity in his voice. Will is too damn tired for this.

 

“I have my imagination”, still staring straight ahead, trying not to make associations. 

 

Will regrets paying less attention, when that lisp suddenly drops. The orderly unfurls his shoulders and stands to his full height, his slouch discarded like his lisp.

 

Hairs stand on end as Will’s visitor introduces himself as his admirer. Lamenting about how _clever_  Will is to hide himself right in the FBI, how both of them are so misunderstood by the world but “at least we can understand each other”. Will could almost laugh at that, but manages a contained smile. 

 

Will’s skin buzzes with adrenaline as every detail he overlooked comes rushing into his mind. The orderly’s name tag reads ‘Matthew Brown’, though it is unlikely that is his real name. He is 5’10 with dark cropped hair, green eyes, strong jaw and thin curled lips. Brown’s improved posture betrays his surprisingly muscular physique, and his lax strides show his confidence.

 

This Matthew Brown has the sensibilities to disable Chilton’s mics, but spares no forethought to opening Will’s cell, inexperienced. Will wagers the man has been in and out of trouble all his life for his aggression, but is a relatively new killer. On the off chance ‘Matthew Brown’ is his legal name, he will likely have a record of escalating petty crimes, from theft to assault, in his early to late teens before cutting off entirely as he learns to hide his nature. 

 

The man is dangerous, but he is nothing Will can’t handle. Nothing compared to the man who locked him in here.

 

Matthew’s eyes glitter with a sort of awe when Will stands and steps out of his cell, his gaze roaming up and down Will’s form. Assessing, and liking whatever it is he sees. 

 

After taking a few steps, revealing in being able to choose the direction his legs take him, Will finally asks “why are you trying to help me?”. 

 

Hawks, comes the answer. Brown wants the safety and support of someone who sees all of him, so when the little birdies decry his actions, he will not be overpowered. 

 

Will finds his honesty refreshing, and decides to give the man a bit of truth in kind. Finally, looking the orderly in the eyes, watching as Matthew’s pupils dilate, Will makes his request. 

 

“I need a favor.”

 

“Anything for a friend”, the payment for Matthew’s help.

 

Will paused, considering sending the man after Hannibal like he originally intended. At first, he harbored no qualms about pitting his admirer against Hannibal Lecter. Will figured no matter who came out on top, there would be one less monster plaguing humanity. But now… he finds himself unwilling to feed the ripper another fresh body. Another potential friend. 

 

Hannibal needs to pay for what he has done, both to himself and many others, and as long as he stays under his thumb, in the cage Lecter designed, his reckoning would never come to fruition. 

 

_If Will wants the ripper he will have to kill him._ Fair enough. 

 

Will takes a quavering breath, clenching and unclenching his jaw, “If I’m a hawk, I’d prefer my wings unclipped.” He spares the man a small wry smile.

 

Matthew erupts into a grin of his own, eyes practically sparkling. “It would be my pleasure Mr. Graham”, he purrs.  


	2. Rain After Drought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew's point of view  
> Featuring ~Sexy man: Will Graham~
> 
> I display my thirst for Hugh Dancy via Matty 
> 
> My next chapter has all the action so stay tuned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey guys, thanks for all your support! Unfortunately, my laptop broke and I had to type this chapter on my phone, so sorry for the delay. I am getting a new laptop soon.
> 
> AN (#2): I took a few (many) liberties with Matthew’s character since his character isn’t all that developed in the show. Hopefully, I don’t make him too OOC.
> 
> Warning: Bad language (Matthew says mean words :< )

As Matthew slips away from Mr. Graham’s holding cell, a promise in his heart, back into the shadows of the corridor, he delights in the circumstances that lead the two of them together. 

 

When it was announced that the Copycat Killer was caught and being detained in the orderly’s neck of the woods, Matthew was prepped for disappointment. 

 

He had tried to work with fellow killers before, but none of them were his style. And Matthew did try, he had his pick of religious zealots, sexual sadists, druggies too doped up to pick their own clothes, and a metric fuckton of white trash racists. In the end, they were all letdowns that Matthew would rather kill himself than hunt with. 

 

The Copycat is skilled, maybe beyond himself, and the man had a certain degree of respect and fascination for the various murders pulled off. There is something intensely tragic about seeing a predator simply surrendering, cowed by the lesser masses. Matthew was prepared to let the man, Will Graham, rot in his cell. But the more information that emerged, the harder it was for Matthew to remain safely in the shadows. 

 

To Matthew’s surprise, this Will Graham was not caught because of laziness or cockiness, traits in many of the inmates Matthew discarded, but because of some rare inflammation in the brain. Will Graham was careful, not only did he hide his nature for years, he hid right under the FBI’s nose! The man’s a fucking brainiac, judging by Graham’s career as a professor. 

 

But what most interested Matthew was Graham’s supposed empathy disorder. That’s what the bitch, Freddie Lounds, kept writing about. How Will Graham can think like any killer, can become them, and eventually catch them. This empathy is apparently real and useful enough for the FBI to bend over backward to get Graham profiling killers without a thorough psychological screening. 

 

It certainly didn’t hurt that Will Graham was so ... pretty. 

 

Not feminine with the scruffy beard and lumberjack aesthetic, but there is no denying the man looks damn good. Maybe his reaction to Graham’s looks was a bit exaggerated since Matthew was not expecting much on the eyes. Incredibly, instead of some old fart or tweaker, the orderly was presented with the face of Baltimore’s Criminally-Insane Fashion Magazine: ‘Putting the Hot in Psychotic’. 

 

Graham’s almost angelic curly hair, strong jaw, and full pink lips were clear on television and Tattle Crime. However, pictures don’t have shit on the real thing. It isn’t just the fact that Will Graham inexplicably has perfectly clear fucking skin (despite living like a hermit), or lashes longer than all of the whores he has fucked.

 

God, he could just imagine those pretty blue eyes fluttering shut as he- well, best not think of that on the job.

 

Brown adjusted himself and leaned against a cold dusty wall, letting the heat in his veins settle, eyes closed so he could still see his new friend’s face. 

 

The fantasy is broken by someone snapping their fingers in his face, “Brown! Orderly Brown! What on earth do you think you're doing?” with a pompous snap punctuating each nasally sentence. 

 

The orderly’s eyes flew open as he narrowly stopped from ripping this cunt’s fingers off and shoving them up where the sun doesn’t shine. 

 

_ Ah, fuck it’s Chilton.  _ With that, Matthew forced himself into the cramped cage that was his public persona. Hunching his shoulders and lowering his eyes drained the life Mr. Graham flowed into him. 

 

“Sorry, Mr. Chilton, late night. Just tryin’ to conserve energy ya know?”, Matthew’s lisp in place, even bouncing nervously for effect. 

 

His employer watched him with haughty disinterest, always the rabbit who fancies itself as a wolf.  “It’s  _ Doctor  _ Chilton, and yes I suppose it is. Try not to doze on the job, the taxpayers pay for each second of shuteye.” Chilton lilts with that awful fake posh accent, promptly turning on his heel and clicking down the darkened hall. 

 

Matthew wants to beat Chilton over his greasy head with his oak, silver-tipped cane, but maybe another time. He still has a promise to fulfill. 

 

Matthew clocked out and stepped into the misty dawn. Letting the crisp air wash over his face, breathing in the freedom, finally, in reach, Matthew got started.

 

First, a curling iron. 

 

\----

 

Matthew clocked in the next evening, filled with pride and excitement to show off the fruits of his labor. Mr. Graham is sure to admire his prowess, especially under such short notice. Forgetting to don his disguise, Brown strides towards Will Graham’s hall, head high, chest puffed and eyes glittering. 

 

The wind left the orderly’s sails, once he saw the sad sight that Mr. Graham made. The man was sheet white and plastered with sweat, shivering and shaking, while attempting to pull the scratchy blanket closer to himself. 

 

Creeping away to take a look at Mr. Graham’s activity log, shows that his friend has had a visitor: some bitch named Alana Bloom. Matthew vaguely remembers the uppity woman trying to insert herself in Will’s trial, from deciding how Graham pleads to even to testifying on his behalf. 

 

However, Mr. Graham seems to like her more than his actual therapist, who was somehow more uppity and pompous than Bloom or Chilton.  _ At least Mr. Graham kicked that bastard to the curb since he is no longer allowed any visits. _

 

Nevertheless, Mr. Graham kept insisting he was innocent, maybe he cares about what this whore thought of him. Matthew certainly couldn’t let Will leave with regrets, not if they were to fly completely free. Will Graham needs to be content with him.

 

When, he finally saw Will Graham, or more importantly when Mr. Graham finally saw him, he felt truly, horribly, wonderfully understood. Mr. Graham’s clear eyes flayed him apart, skin split open and muscle pulled from bone. It was the rawest he has ever felt, those hazel-blue eyes took Matthew in his entirety; the violence, the anger, the loneliness, and just accepted it. 

 

It was a relief, it beautiful, and it wasn't something Matthew would let slip away. He would not allow this beauty to whither. Will Graham is leaving with him and he will flourish. 

 

There just needs to be a few amendments to his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments Are Only Elements Undergoing Change to Fuel My Mediocrity!  
> -🤠


	3. Breaking open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time to test Will's new friend has come, but is Matthew trustworthy?  
>  
> 
> I promised y'all action!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes in italics are past conversations. I'm trying to find a way to properly format things, so bear with me. :)

 

  
Will rips out of his nightmare, gasping for air as he broke the surface of the dark ocean of his subconscious. Tears stain his cheeks and his body is slick with sweat. Will lays back down on his cot, squeezing his eyes shut against the fluorescent light in his holding cell, imagining for a moment he was somewhere else, anywhere else. Will wades through the swamps of Louisiana, the sun beating down on his neck and hot humid air rustling through his locks, cooling his sweaty brow. Will turns towards the sun and finds himself back at Wolftrap, happy yips fill the air as his dogs bound over the fallen leaves and dart through the trees, and Will feels his breathing even and his heart lighten.

  
But too soon, those barks turned into hushed whispers and the bright sun became the fluorescent lighting. Finally, Will eased his eyes open and forces himself up. The custodian sweeping jumps at Will’s sudden movement and scurries further down the hall. Will watches him go, feeling like the monster the poor man believes him to be.

  
With a deep, shuddering breath Will wipes the sweat on his skin with the scratchy blanket, before noticing a variation in the bare cell he inhabits, a splash of deep blue amongst the monotonous gray. Padding over to the corner of his cell, Will reaches for what he discovered to be a blanket and an incredibly soft one at that. It felt like fleece, though Will admittedly has little experience with fine fabrics and had the tell-tale signs of good use over the years. Glancing back to where the blanket was placed for him to discover, it appears as if someone slid the throw through the bars, neatly folded and prepped for his comfort.  
The blanket was a kindness he had stopped expecting, especially after this morning's events.

  
Alana stood in front of Will’s cell, arms shielding her from the man she once called a friend “Why on earth did you contact Freddie Lounds Will? Why would you reach out to the murderer who copied your kills?” she implored with teary eyes, nervously shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“ _They AREN’T my kills, Alana!_ ” Will snapped back, burning with anger because after everything his innocence wasn’t even considered anymore. To her credit, Alana looked sheepish at her slip.

  
“ _I’m sorry Will, but you have to know how this looks! I’m your friend, aren’t I? I only want what’s best for you._ ”

  
A friend shouldn’t have so little trust in him. At that moment, Will finally realized that Alana will only ever accept him as a broken man or a monster and Will doesn’t know which is worse. He will never be of equal standing to her. So, why was he still so desperate to get her approval?  
Will curled into himself and retreated into his mind, letting himself momentarily escape from the fact that everyone who he cares about is betraying him one by one. From Jack, to now Alana and –  
  
Will snaps himself out of his memory and turns his attention back to the blanket. He thinks about a famous story of British colonialism.  
  
After ravaging Native American tribes, killing their men, burning their crops and destroying their tools, thousands of tribes starved and froze over the harsh winters. When hopeful native diplomats tried to reason with their invaders, they were given a gift. There were some blankets and handkerchiefs to fight the cold of the winter. The British claimed it was an apology for the suffering they had caused, and the native American diplomats took these supplies back to their tribes hopeful that peace is finally attainable. That there will be a reprieve to their suffering.  
  
Those blankets were purposefully infected with smallpox, and when the blankets were given to the cold and the weak, more died painful horrible deaths. And the ones who survived? They suffered even worse fates: permanently disfigured, blinded and scared. So, when the British arrived on their land, those who they were so desperate to trust, they couldn’t even fight back.  
  
As he wraps the cloth over his shaking frame, Will wonders what this kindness is laced with.

  
\---------------------------------------------------------  
  
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, Will allowed Chilton to fumble around his mind like a greasy virgin on prom night. He allowed himself to be poked and prodded by guards and paraded from one cell to the next. He was shown, he was fed and he was tucked back into his cage. Will releases his autonomy to the incompetent hands of the state, knowing (hoping, his mind corrects) that his freedom will be reclaimed. That Will can finally be an active participant in his fate.  
  
Matthew Brown is nowhere to be seen, and despite Will knowing the young man’s desperation to prove himself to Will, he cannot help but wonder if Brown realized he was no hawk and anxiety begins to crawl rapidly under his skin.  
  
It is not until night falls and activity in Will’s wing dies, that his new friend decides to visit. The orderly’s arrival announced by an almost whispered “Mr. Graham”, somehow seeming more achingly excited than ever before.  
  
Matthew seems to stitch together his professional person suit as another colleague and announces, with his false lisp in place, “sorry to disturb you, but Dr. Chiton has requested your presence”.  
  
“Another magical night awaits”, Will quips giving a wry smile to no one in particular. Chilton had a habit of pestering him at all hours of the day, hoping that he can catch Will with his guard down, so Will quietly turns to face the wall with his wrists behind his back, as is the procedure. Before turning, Will notices a delighted little smile on Matthew's face that Will can’t help but reciprocate. Brown just seems so endlessly happy by every little thing Will does.  
  
A bit of the empath’s anxiety melts away by Matthew’s sincerity and he wonders when his new friend will set him free. If he even can, that is.  
  
“Alright, watch your mouth” angrily slurs the second orderly, obviously overcompensating with aggressiveness to hide his fear of the inmates, and presses Will roughly against the wall as he handcuffs him. Will cranks his neck to see the man who is seemingly trying to mend Will’s face with the metal bars, the orderly is about his height, with long greasy hair in a man bun. The man’s gut was pressed firmly into his back and Will honestly wishes he had never turned his head from the wall, the orderly’s breath was rancid.  
  
Just as the man began to release Will to lead him out of his cell, the orderly slammed back into him, to which Will let out a shocked cry. Then, the pressure disappeared entirely with a loud thump.  
  
Will whirls around to see Brown over the crumpled form of his co-worker, eyes wide and recreating Matthew’s attack.  
  
“Brown, wha-?”, but Will wasn’t even able to finish that thought before Matthew turned his assault on him. In a blink, the empath was pinned against that same wall, their chests crushed together, Matthew’s green eyes tightened in childish glee.  
  
No. No. Not this shit again. This isn’t fucking happening again. This is NOT happening!  
  
Will felt as his shock and hurt fell away, evaporating from the sheer heat of deep primal rage. Will raises his face and sets his jaw before a deep rumbling growl erupts from his chest and he is pushing off the wall with all his might.  
  
Both men go flying, Matthew hitting the opposite bars with a loud clang, only unnoticed due to the late hour. Will, crawling on top of the man, teeth bared and nails digging into the orderly’s skin, grabs Matthew’s head and slams it into the bars.  
  
The younger man takes this opportunity to cling onto Will’s forearm and bend it unnaturally at the elbow, forcing the empath off. The orderly unsteadily rise to his feet as Will scampers to the  
the inner corner of his cell, eyes never leaving his prey.  
  
Matthew cups the back of his head with one hand while the other rummages around in his pocket and a flash of silver appears, a crazed smile like a crack in his face.  
  
At the sight of this unknown object Will’s fury only blazed higher, overriding the pang of anguish at yet another betrayal. How dare he bring a weapon into this?! He won’t even fight Will fairly!  
With a scream, Will launches himself out of his corner, Matthew tries to feign right but Will can read him like a book. Will is no sheep, and he will not be gently led to his death. Finding purchase in Matthew’s uniform he wrenches the man to the floor.  
  
Will straddles the man under, chest heaving and a sense of power tightening in his muscles. He grips Matthew’s throat tightly, eyes brightening at the man’s aborted struggles. Matthew, head spinning, tries desperately to focus on the beautiful man towering over him.  
  
The profiler slowly leans down and hisses Matthew’s ear, “I am not your prey.”  
  
“No, you’re not”, comes the hoarse reply. Will raises to look at Matthew, his grasp on the man’s neck loosening, just as he feels a sharp sting in his neck.  
  
Will’s body rapidly loses strength as the orderly rolls them over and watches Will fight to keep consciousness, an expression of ecstasy painted on his face.  
  
“Bastard” was the last coherent thought Will managed before darkness overtook his vision. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey do y'all want shorter chapters with more frequent updates or longer chapters with slower updates. Since I will be in uni soon (go bears!), I will have even less time to write. Let me know! 
> 
> Guess what Matthew's plan is and you get an imaginary homemade apple pie!

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and kudos are the blood and breath that fuel my very average existence <3
> 
> Since this is my first fic, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. Is my writing too pretentious? Is it not pretentious enough? Are there any glaring grammar/spelling mistakes? Has my writing inexplicably given you stage 3 lung cancer? Let me know!


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